


The Long Road Home

by The_White_Rabbit42



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, M/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-15 01:32:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11220459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_White_Rabbit42/pseuds/The_White_Rabbit42
Summary: Fate made you and Gabriel soulmates, but a spell has severed your bond completely and removed the archangel from your reality.  Will you be able to find your way back to each other or will you both remain lost?    Sequel to Homeless





	The Long Road Home

**Author's Note:**

> As I was writing Homeless I was already sketching out a sequel in my head. It's changed quite a bit since then, mostly with it evolving from 3 distinct parts to something more spread out to do the journey justice. 
> 
> This was also written for June’s @gabriel-monthly-challenge statement prompt:
> 
> He remembered how excited he used to feel watching the sunrise. Now all it brought was exhaustion and dread.

Gabriel had never been good with rules.  Well, that wasn’t completely true.  He was fantastic at breaking them.  Anything other than that, however, was a little iffy.  

 

He got it.  He really did.  You weren’t a fan of surprises.  He imagined most of your aversion to him stemmed from the fact he couldn’t help but be a constant one, though it wasn’t like it was  _ his _ idea to have stealth mode permanently activated with you.  

 

He also understood how it might feel a little creeptastic having a stranger around without your knowledge.  Except he  _ wasn’t _ one.  He was your father damn soulmate.  

 

Not that  _ that _ little fact mattered much anymore.  

 

You couldn’t see him.  You couldn’t touch him.  You couldn’t feel him.  You couldn’t even remember him.  Every shred of evidence he had ever existed had been erased from your life.  The worst part of it all?  You barely wanted to acknowledge him.  

 

Father forbid, however, he didn’t acknowledge  _ you _ or your damn sanctions.  

 

One of the three stooges was supposed to let you know when he entered the room.  If you were alone, Gabriel was expected to announce himself.  He had preferred to do it with gifts, to show you that he wasn’t as awful as you seemed to think.  When he noticed how most of them ended up tucked out of sight (or in the case of edibles, discreetly in the trash), he decided his cup was filled with enough disappointment these days, (not to mention a more conventional route might save you all on your lightbulb bill).

 

So now he opened doors.  He moved chairs.  He passed you the sugar when you were making your coffee.  He tried to do things that would be helpful.  

 

Nothing made a difference.  

 

He still wasn’t allowed to follow you outside the bunker without a chaperone as though he might leap on you the first chance he had.  Everyone seemed to forget the one, minor little detail about how he’d just pass right through you, even if he tried.  But  _ no _ .  He had to be treated like some predator because, more importantly, he was not permitted, under any circumstances, in your bedroom.  

 

Which was where he most certainly was  _ not _ right now.  

 

As much as he didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable, some nights he couldn’t help but slip in after you fell asleep.  He would lay on the edge of the bed, lean frame stretched out, parallel to yours.  He never touched you, though it wasn’t because it wouldn’t make a difference.  There were some lines even he wouldn’t cross.  Knowing you wanted nothing to do with him, let alone his hands, made that one of them. 

 

He often wondered why he even did this.  In these quiet moments, the memories haunted him in ways that had pain blossoming, gouging aching paths so deep within him he wasn’t sure it would ever reach bottom.   He recalled every detail about how the warmth of your body curled up against his when you slept, the way your scent would linger on his clothes when you got out of bed, how perfect you felt against him --  _ Father did he miss how you felt _ \-- from the tips of your fingers to soft strands of hair, his hands shook with the need to touch you again.   Anywhere.   _ Everywhere _ .    

 

He would give up everything just to feel you, solid, beneath his hands again, to worship you until you called his name in ways that suggested you weren’t the only one being deified.   

 

He would sacrifice his grace if it meant he was even just allowed to hold you one more time, to feel your life force mingle with his.  To feel whole again.  Complete.  

 

The emptiness left behind by your bond was devouring him.  It gnawed along the edge of his existence, an ever hungry void that he couldn’t satiate no matter what he fed it.  What was really dismantling him, however, piece by jaded piece, was your indifference.  

 

He knew it wasn’t your fault.  Why would you love someone you couldn’t remember?  How could you understand the depths of a connection when you had nothing with which to compare it?  It didn’t stop the slap to his face from stinging every time you were eager to run off on a new case.  

 

Sam was usually the one that tagged along to make sure someone had your back.  Dean, surprisingly enough, was the one staying behind and spearheading the ongoing search for a way to undo the magic.  He rarely left the bunker anymore unless it was with Cas to check out a potential lead on some lore.  

 

Gabriel expected the dedication from his younger sibling (he knew Cas had always been a favorite for a reason).  Dean, however, was a pleasant surprise considering the man had only ever tolerated him, though that was mainly because you threatened to leave if he didn’t.  Without your support, Gabe fully expected to find himself excommunicated from the bunker (and subsequently your life).   

 

Kill a man a few thousand times and suddenly he acted like Gabriel was  _ always  _ going to kill him (and everyone around them).  He figured  _ he’d _ have to die,  _ again _ , for Dean to finally move past that.  Apparently all it took was being ripped away from his soulmate.  

 

Then again, there might have been some bonding over both of their lingering daddy issues when Chuck disappeared without so much as a goodbye or a forwarding address for a second time.  At least Papa Winchester had taken the road of redemption and gone out saving his son’s soul.  Gabriel’s father?  Well, he wasn’t sure where in Creation Chuck was at the moment, but he had clearly shut his phone off when he and Auntie Amara had taken their little family vacation.  

 

Nothing short of this little fiasco would have had Gabriel even considering reaching out to the Almighty ass the universe had deemed worthy of being an all powerful Creator.  At least this time he knew better than to expect a response.  His father had walked out on everything, ignoring prayers and his sons for millennia.  There was no reason to believe he’d start listening now, least of all to the black sheep of the family.

When Gabriel caved and asked for help for the first time since he’d left home, it didn’t stop the silence from sounding that much more empty... 

 

…the same way it did during these long nights.  

 

What kept him from slipping into dangerous waters was the very thing responsible for him nearly drifting away.  You couldn’t see him.  As long as he could spend this time with you, as long as he could close his eyes and pretend that the world had not given him the biggest middle finger in existence, he could convince himself he could make it through another day.  

 

When he was really lucky, he could convince himself that nothing had changed.  He could breathe in your scent and for a few minutes could hide within the reticence that only came under the cover of darkness.  Coming out of these moments, however, was the hardest.  

 

He never stayed the full night.  He could never stand to watch you go through a routine that no longer included him.  It was so different.  Foreign.  Almost clinical in how precise it had become.  Wake up, roll out of bed, shower, brush your teeth, get dressed, head to the kitchen.  All within the same amount of time it used to take for either of you to even contemplate getting out from beneath the covers. 

 

It wasn’t your fault you didn’t remember how that first hour or so was reserved for only the two of you.  It wasn’t your fault you didn’t miss how he always started it with a kiss (that often led to other activities depending on where said affection was placed).  You hadn’t chosen to forget all the conversations you had about the past, about the future, about each other.  Yet, watching you go about your day without him was too much of a reminder that your world could go on just fine without him while his stood at a standstill.  

 

Often, he found himself perched on the roof of the bunker, waiting for the sun to creep over the horizon.  A new day could mean a new chance, to make this right, to even just find some small way to reconnect, but more often than not he found it just brought new opportunities for you to smack him in the face with just how little you wanted to do with him.  

 

Finding his soulmate had given him a spark of hope, a dangerous sentiment he had had avoided at all costs, and you had nurtured it into something bright and beautiful.  You helped him believe that as long as you both made it to the start of a new day together, everything would be fine and  **he remembered how excited he used to feel watching the sunrise.  Now all it brought was exhaustion and dread.**

 

It was always a tossup whether life would begin to stir outside the bunker walls before you did.  Today, the world rose first, the birds chirping their obnoxiously happy melodies before he picked up on the first whispers of your consciousness.  He tracked your presence through the bunker, waiting until you reached the neutral territory of the kitchen before snapping himself back inside.  

 

He found you glaring at the sink full of dirty dishes, hands slamming the cupboards in frustration as you searched for a clean cup.  The coffee maker gave a final slurping noise, signalling it had finished its brew.  This only seemed to feed your ire.

 

“Doesn’t anyone remember how to do the damn dishes around here?” You grumbled.  He snapped and a mug appeared on the counter in front of you.  You froze, your body going rigid as you just stared at the object as if it might try to go for your throat at any moment.

 

“Thanks, Gabriel,” you said stiffly.

 

He didn’t need to dip into your mind to know gratitude was not what you felt toward him at that moment.  

 

He didn’t know how to fix this.  He didn’t know how to make you comfortable again.  Sam, Dean, and Cas had all gone to bat for him, reassuring you he wasn’t some lecherous creeper stalking you at every turn.  Yet, you continued to be unsettled by the possibility he might be there.  Watching.  Waiting.  

 

Technically, he usually was, but not in the way you clearly imagined.

 

Unsure of how to proceed, he did the only thing he could think of.  He snapped up the breakfast he had made you, minus his mojo, the day he’d finally stopped being stubborn and admitted he loved you.  In his nervousness, he’d nearly botched the whole thing.   The pancakes had come out horribly disfigured.  The sausage had all come out charred on one side.  He’d completely forgotten that you were on a bacon and cinnamon waffles kick.  The eggs had been the only thing to come out fine, though he later learned you preferred them over easy with toast rather than scrambled (something he had remembered this time around).

 

His fingers slipped into his pocket, idly tracing over the pendant he had yet to give back to you.  As with anything he tried these days, all he could do was wait.  When he caught the disinterested look on your face, he decided it was a good idea to do it somewhere else before he blew the whole fuse box again.   

 

***

 

There were rules for a reason.  Usually it was to keep people from doing stupid things like lying about angels being stuffed into their sibling’s body or thinking that hugely powerful removal spells targeting things like the Mark of Cain could be cast without cosmic consequences.  These days, however, it was mostly because you didn’t know what to do knowing there was likely an archangel watching your every move.   

 

You trusted your friends when they said Gabriel wasn’t something to worry about, but Dean and Cas were particularly persistent to the point it felt less like reassurance and more like they were hounding you.  Well, Dean was hounding, Cas was a little more tactful, but it was clear they sympathized more with the archangel than they did with you.  

 

Sam was the only one who listened when you said you were uneasy.  He had always been one of the few people, possibly the  _ only _ person, you felt truly understood you.  He not only paid attention to what you said, but to the subtleties that whispered truths beneath your guarded or deflective actions.  His perception and his sympathetic personality made him able to see through your walls when others remained caught outside.

 

Having someone who knew you well enough to slip past your defenses without you even knowing was becoming a blessing.  There were times, however, where it could be dangerous.  More and more often, you noticed he seemed conflicted whenever the topic of Gabriel came up, as if suspecting there was more to your unease than you were letting on.  

 

His instincts were right.  Chuck willing, however, he and the rest of Team Free Will would never find out why.   

 

Which left you on your own when dealing with the staggering notion that an archangel, one of the most absolute and terrifying beings in existence, was your soulmate.

 

The term tugged at the back of your mind, skirting the fringe of your understanding, like an echo of a memory so distant it might as well have been from another lifetime.  Whenever you tried to reach for it, it skittered further away, leaving an inexplicable emptiness in its wake.  It tore through your very being, threatening to pull you into something dark, something infinite, and something completely beyond your understanding.  

 

It wasn’t the unknown that scared you so much as the nothingness that seemed to erode at the very edges of your existence every time that rift opened.

 

So you did your best to avoid it, which wasn’t hard.  There were no memories of this being, no lingering inklings of emotion.  You couldn’t even find a single photograph of him and you together.  If Cas hadn’t insisted it was true, you still wouldn’t believe it wasn’t just an elaborate joke Sam and Dean were trying to pull to get back at you for Florida.

 

Despite their assurance that Gabriel was not like his brothers, it didn’t make you feel any less on edge whenever you found yourself alone.  

 

Mornings always felt the most tense, though you weren’t certain why.  It might have been the fact it was hit or miss someone would be around to confirm whether or not you had extra company.  Cas seemed to be most in tune with this and often met you somewhere between your room and the kitchen. Today, he was nowhere to be found, and you uncomfortably made your way through the halls.  

 

Your nervousness was quickly overshadowed by frustration when you reached the kitchen and were reminded just how integral the angel was to other aspects of your life.

 

“Doesn’t anyone remember how to do the damn dishes around here?”  You muttered as you scoured the kitchen for something,  _ anything _ to put your coffee in.  At this point, you’d drink it from a bowl if you had to, so long as you could drink it.  

 

You were going to have a long talk with your housemates about how being big, damn, world saving heroes, did not make them exempt from basic household responsibilities.  

 

Something appeared in your sidevision and when you found a clean cup waiting for you on the counter, you froze.  The flames of your anger became muted as shades from the past reverberated through your mind.  You did your best to push them back beneath the surface, but shadows were not things easily seized or caged.  To subdue them, you needed light, something that was becoming harder and harder to find.  

 

You did your best to stay tethered to logic.  It was just Gabriel’s way of telling you he was there.  He was trying to be helpful.  More importantly, he was solving your problem of being severely decaffeinated and more likely to commit homicide than actually wash anything.   

 

You managed to regain your footing and with it came your manners. “Thanks, Gabriel.”

 

By the time you turned around, your favorite breakfast was waiting for you as well.  The eggs were a little off.  Over easy with toast was fine, but you would have preferred scrambled.  

 

Well, you would have if you were even hungry.  

 

Gabriel hadn’t been the only thing to disappear since the fight with Dagon.  Your appetite had made itself scarce and most days you needed reminders to even eat.  Sam was better than Dean with these types of things, but it was really the archangel who made sure you didn't pass out from low blood sugar.

 

He may have also been trying to give you diabetes from all the sugar he tried to feed you, but that was besides the point.

 

“Thanks, but I'm not really hungry,” you told him.  You had intended to just grab some coffee before heading to the library.  Cas had left you an ancient druidic text on bonding magic and you wanted to at least look at it before a new case cropped up.  Now you weren’t sure what to do.  It seemed a little rude to just leave, but it wasn't like you could do anything other than make one sided small talk, and even then, what the hell did one say to their former soulmate?     

 

“Wow,” Sam said as he strode through the doorway, brows raising as he took in the full table in front of him.  “Someone’s been busy.”

 

“Gabriel,” you told him.  

 

“Oh.  Right,” he realized, idly scratching at the back of his head as he caught the unspoken question in your gaze.  “He’s not here.”

 

His smile was sympathetic, and when you let out a sigh you hoped your relief at Gabriel’s absence was never palpable enough for the angel to notice.  Just because he was a complete stranger and put every nerve of yours on edge didn’t mean you didn’t feel  _ something  _ in regards to him.

 

Unfortunately, most days it just happened to be  _ not a whole lot _ .  

 

You knew it was the magic.  Extremely harrowing experiences may have left you more closed off than the average hunter, but that only meant it took you longer to trust or to let someone into your life in any meaningful way.  It didn’t mean you stopped knowing how to empathize.  

 

Every now and then, Gabriel’s plight trailed along on the coattails of something that stirred that sentiment.  The emotion had to be burning particularly bright and vivid, but sometimes, if you caught it at just the right moment, the afterglow would spill over onto him and something would spark.  Only it was like trying to start a fire in the middle of a downpour that had been raging for biblical lengths of time.  Nothing dry remained for anything to catch, and those tiny embers faded just as quickly as they appeared.   

 

You kept reminding yourself how awful it would be, having everything that mattered ripped away from you in the blink of an eye.  

 

You had yet to find it made much of a difference.     
  


“Big plans today?”  Sam asked, idly grabbing a piece of fruit off the table on his way through and popping it into his mouth.

 

“Library.  Cas dropped off a book for me.”  You watched as he began the same hunt you had a few minutes before. “Nothing's clean, by the way.”

 

Your friend changed course, walking over to a cupboard attached to the ceiling on the opposite side of the room.  He reached inside, victory singing in the form of a sly smile as he found not only a mug but a plate and set of silverware as well.

 

This confirmed your suspicion the giant liked to stash things up there knowing you needed to put significantly more effort into reaching it than you ever deemed worth the task.

 

“If it's the one I’m thinking of, you’re going to want to bring the rest of this,” he told you, gesturing toward you with the coffee pot before he helped himself to some.  “Or maybe some moral support.  If Dean isn’t already there he should be soon.”

 

You could do without his brother nipping at your heels, for once.  

  
Something about that must have shown in your features as Sam paused, eyeing you as he hesitantly said, “You know, I noticed you and Dean have been butting heads lately…”

 

In your opinion, it had been less about the two of you knocking heads and more about what Dean’s head had started becoming.  

 

“It’s hard for him, I think,” Sam continued.  “He looks at you and Gabriel and sees the worst that could happen to him and Cas.”

 

“Yeah, well…” You paused, unsure of what to say.  You didn’t want to start an argument this early, or worse, have Dean walk in on you complaining to his brother.   _ Again _ .  

 

“You don’t have to say anything,” he assured.  “I just wanted to put it out there.”

 

Maybe you didn’t have to say anything, but you wanted to.  The more it felt like Dean was drifting away from you, the more you realized Sam had always been your constant.  His dependability, his diplomacy, but mostly his unwavering support solidified your trust in him when you felt everyone else was trying to back you into Gabriel’s corner.

 

Though you supposed the angel could use a few more friends than you right now.

 

“Gabriel needs someone to see him,” you acknowledged.  “But thanks for still seeing me.”

 

The sudden heart to heart had uncertainty bleeding through the appreciative look you gave him.  You weren’t good with these things and often avoided them.  Sam wasn’t expecting it either, his eyes dropping to the floor a moment before flashing back up to yours.

 

“Your welcome,” he says, warmth and reassurance tugging his lips up into a smile.  “You know, if Dean turns out to be too much, my door’s always open.”

 

You knew.  He had never offered before now, not explicitly, but he was the type of friend you went to when you needed to bury a body.  A  _ real  _ one, not just when you needed to clean up after a hunt.  

 

“Why?  Something wrong with the lock?” You jested, slipping back to the safe and comfortable confines of your humor.

 

He was all too happy to join you back in charted territory.  “Yeah.  Tends to act up around smartasses.”

 

A playfulness danced across his features, brightening his gaze that often contained his own piece of darkness that spilled over into the present.  It eased some of the lines in his face, making him seem a little more vibrant and lively.  It was a look he wore well and one you found contagious.

 

“So, it’s permanently broken?” You teased in a familiar and friendly way that encroached but didn’t touch the borders of flirtation.  For once, the curve of your lips felt natural, right, like a piece of you was slipping back into place for the first time since you woke up in that hospital.

 

Sam’s eyes shifted somewhere above your head, landing over your shoulder near the doorway.  The light in his eyes flickered out and you didn’t need to look behind you to know what he saw. 

 

“You know what else is broken?” Dean’s voice carried in from the hallway, his tall frame brushing past yours as he made his way toward the coffee pot. “Your cosmic connection, something that I’m sure carries with it some pretty cosmic consequences.”

 

Your smile fell, lips pulling thin as the weight fell back into place, nearly dragging you down to the floor with the weariness that swept in along with it.  You were so tired of being reminded that you needed to fix this, like it was somehow _ your _ fault everything happened.  No one seemed to remember that the reason you were in this mess to begin with was because you had  _ saved  _ Gabriel from a fate that, according to Cas, was likely worse than what was happening now.

 

You channeled your inner Dean, leveling the best bitch face you could muster, which wasn't hard given your continued lack of caffeination. 

 

“What?” He demanded. 

 

“Dude, come on, it’s barely past seven,” Sam jumped in, trying to defuse the situation.

 

“She doesn't need you to speak for her,” Dean reminded snidely as he began to make his way through the cabinets in search of something clean.  

 

“Maybe not, but she probably needs you to shut up until she’s at least had her coffee.”

 

The sass that snuck into Sam’s tone was surprising.  Then again, he had barely touched his own cup as well and the look Dean shot back suggested none of you were functioning well at the moment.  

 

“Watch it,” the older Winchester warned, pointing a finger at his brother’s face before whirling around.  He stalked across the room, opening the cupboard his brother had already pilfered.  As he groped his way through the shelves, Sam’s eyes fell to yours once again where they lingered for a moment before he inclined his head toward the door.    

 

Whoever said chivalry was dead had clearly not met the youngest Winchester.

 

You pulled up the hem of your shirt as you began to back towards the hall, displaying the gun tucked at your side.  You gestured toward it, then back to him, offering it with a curious raise of your brow.  His lips twitched with amusement and he held up a finger for you to hold on a moment as you neared the doorway.  

 

“Hey Dean… North Dakota.”

 

Three things happened at once.  Dean froze.  Your eyes went wider than quarters.  Sam, on the other hand, merely winked in your direction.  

 

“How  _ dare  _ you,” Dean declared indignantly, turning around and dropping his hands to his hips.    Sam leaned against the counter, casually taking a sip of his coffee, looking as if he couldn't be happier watching the world burn beneath the blaze he just lit.  

 

“How.  Dare.  You,” Dean repeated, an emotional,  if not dramatic, undercurrent to his words that had his voice coming out softer though far mare intense.  

 

“We going to make eyes at each other all day or are we going to do this?”  Sam goaded.

 

You stifled a laugh, hastily turning your back on what was undoubtedly about to become a murder scene.  You didn’t know many people that would take a bullet for you, let alone prime a nuke just to detonate it on themselves.  

 

You owed Sam _big_ _time_. 

 

You smiled, the relief from knowing Dean would have someone else to focus on adding an extra spring to your step.  Your brain became abuzz, combing over the ideas on how you could make it up to your friend.  Maybe later, after you’d made some headway with that book, you could make him those brownies he liked so much.

 

You never felt a single atom in Gabriel’s being as you passed through where he stood in the doorway, though you weren’t the only one who couldn’t see him this time.  

 


End file.
